You Know, Blaise
by MeAmJeni
Summary: Or does he? Sequel to Don't You, Blaise... My story of Blaise Zabini after Hogwarts. Canon-compliant.
1. The Mother of Conundrums

**A/N: Yo people! You see I was not actually lying in the long run-I was just being slow! And actually I don't know how fast I'll be updating but here's something to get you started with and I'll try! **

**So this is a sequel to Don't You, Blaise, for all those lovely people who reviewed DYB, especially those who asked for more! (Oh, pardon all the exclamation marks. I don't know what's up with that.)**

* * *

Blaise tried to make a life for himself. But how does one go about making a life? His classmates all had jobs, were abroad, or dead. Or, at least it had been so four years ago. Blaise knew a lot could happen in four years, but no matter what his classmates happened to be doing, he still had to do something. He supposed getting a job would probably be a good way to start a life…but what sort of job did Blaise Zabini want? He remembered in his fifth year at Hogwarts this question had been asked time and again and he had never really given a satisfactory answer. But now, after some deliberation, he decided on his career.

Blaise Zabini was going to become an Unspeakable.

But becoming an Unspeakable is not what one would call easy and it certainly does not happen overnight. Blaise's training was demanding and it took a while to complete. Also, he was made to understand that once he started training, he would have no option but to be an Unspeakable. He was sworn to secrecy. In fact, he was asked to make an Unbreakable Vow. But honestly, he didn't care that much. Blaise had never been talkative, especially when he had really no one to talk to.

This changed one afternoon when Blaise was in Diagon Alley.

It was on one of his very few days off, and he had been obliged to do some shopping. Mostly groceries, which Blaise did not particularly enjoy, since it meant he had to deal with Muggles. After this had been done he had gone to Diagon Alley for no reason other than he had wanted a bit of the wizarding world. Despite the late November cold, he chose to eat lunch outside at one of the small cafes, under a brightly coloured umbrella that he hated on sight. It was, however, the least offensive of the lot.

He ate in no particular hurry, watching the people around him without appearing to take any notice of anyone at all. Blaise was quite good at this.

Nevertheless, he did not notice her until she landed in the seat across from him.

"Excuse me," she gasped. "I didn't-" She broke off as she met the eyes of the man sitting across from her.

Blaise was looking at her very oddly. The young woman who had joined him so suddenly was taller than the average, though still shorter than him, and had thick blonde hair which was pulled back from her face and fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were a dark blue almost bordering on purple when shaded by her long eyelashes. Dressed in white jeans and a pink and white jacket, she was, in fact, very pretty.

"Tracey Davies," he realized.

"Blaise Zabini," she replied, one hand flying to her throat. As quickly as she had sat down she stood up again. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, though what she could possibly have been interrupting was not clear to Blaise. "I'll…go now." And she did, walking quickly.

But Blaise, for some reason he didn't quite understand, jumped up and hurried after her.

"Tracey," he said, catching up with her and grabbing her arm.

She stopped, having really no other choice, and turned to face him.

"Yes?"

She had changed, Blaise realized. Not so much physically-she was the same height, her hair the same colour and perhaps a bit longer, she probably weighed about the same amount-no, it was more in the way she held herself and her expressions. Blaise both disliked it and found it attractive. He wasn't sure why.

"Hello?" she said when he just stared at her instead of speaking.

"Oh…right. Um, are you in a hurry?"

Tracey hesitated. "Why?" she asked.

"I just thought…haven't seen you in a while…buy you lunch?" He felt oddly disconcerted. Very odd. Blaise _wasn't_ disconcerted; it wasn't something that he allowed to happen to him.

Tracey looked at him, cool appraisal in those eyes. Yet all at once Blaise felt she was putting on a mask for his benefit and suddenly he was at home with himself again. He didn't know why.

"I am in a bit of a hurry, actually," Tracey said. "I know we haven't seen each other in a while but you know that was your decision."

Blaise nodded. "I know, Tracey. I cut myself off from everyone and now I'm realizing that even Blaise Zabini can't live without some human contact."

"You've been gone for almost seven years," she pointed out.

He nodded. "Well, technically, I was here almost four years ago."

Something flashed in her eyes but was quickly gone. "Were you?"

Blaise nodded again. "Yeah, but only for a couple days. I met Pansy at The Three Broomsticks and then ate with her but otherwise no one else knew I was here."

Tracey closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them they were carefully veiled. Blaise could see this, but he couldn't see what it was they were veiling.

"That's nice," Tracey said coolly. "Now I really must go. It's been nice seeing you again." She turned to go.

Blaise stopped her again. "Wait a bit, Tracey, you reckon we could eat out sometime?"

She turned her head and gave him a long look. "Maybe."

"When-" he began, but she cut him off.

"I really don't have time to talk right now. If you really want this, get in touch and I'll see. Goodbye, Blaise."

"See you," Blaise said, and let her go.

* * *

In all honesty, Blaise wanted to owl Tracey as soon as he got back to his flat, but he didn't. Though it annoyed him that he didn't know when his next day off would be, he knew better than to try to ask Tracey out that evening. Instead he did something else that he knew he should have done earlier. He went to see his mother.

Blaise's mother had gone with him to America, but he had left her in England and gone to Italy by himself. He had not contacted her since he was back, despite knowing she was doubtless wondering about him. He had received several owls from her but had only sent her one himself.

He Apparated to about a quarter mile from her manor and walked the rest of the way. He stopped at the gates and looked up the long cobbled path, lined with snow-covered strips of grass and hedges and an occasional tree on either side. It looked almost exactly as he remembered it.

Blaise laid a hand on the gates, wondering if they would let him in. He felt a strange sensation in his hand and, though he drew it back, the gates opened soundlessly. He looked at his hand and was almost unsurprised to see a small, neat cut in his palm. So the gates had tasted his blood and found him acceptable.

He walked up the long path without hesitation, and yet without haste. He did not stop until he reached the front door. He studied the great brass knocker in the shape of a sphinx for a moment before lifting her tail and letting it drop.

It took several minutes for the door to open, and then it was his mother herself.

"Blaise?" she said, and her high, clear, almost-childlike voice was incredulous.

He stepped into the foyer.

"Oh _Blaise_," she said. "You're back!"

She wrapped her arms around him, soft and silky and smelling like she always had, like Chanel No.5.

"Hello, Mother," Blaise said, returning her hug carefully. He always felt like he had to be careful with his mother.

"Come," she said, and clasping his hand, she drew him into a small sitting room.

They sat, Blaise on a chair and his mother on a sofa across from him. She pressed her hands together in her lap, and studied her son intently. He returned her gaze easily.

Akila Beaumont was beautiful-so beautiful, in fact, that she was well known for that reason. She gave the appearance of being more petite than she really was-people often thought of her as a little woman, though in reality she was only slightly smaller than the average. Her flawless skin was the colour of coffee, but other than that there was no trace of her African father in her looks. She had thick dark hair which, when loose, fell to the floor, and in her face were the delicate features of her French mother. Her eyes were large and dark grey, framed by thick dark lashes, her eyebrows arched in a way that gave her a demure, questioning look, which made people want to answer it. She gave one the impression of fragility, of a woman who needed to be taken care of.

Blaise was used to his mother's beauty, and he could see past the implications of fragility, of innocence, of timidity.

Many hated his mother, despised her, feared her, because of her many rich husbands who had died such sudden inexplicable deaths. Some admired her, wanted her. Others were puzzled by her. All of them did not know her. Blaise knew her better than anyone in her life, and even he did not know her at all.

All his life she was a constant stream of contradictions, a conundrum. Because of her, he had seen things no child should ever have seen. They were branded into his memory, and he knew he was a different person because of them. And yet, he could remember times when she stood before him, protecting him, though he could not remember from what, for he had never seen. He could remember one night when he woke screaming from a nightmare (strange how dreams made him scream, but reality never did, no matter how terrifying it was), his mother dashing into the room, terror on her face. He remembered her crushing him to her, and then shaking him, telling him he must never _ever_ scream and scare her like that again unless he was being hurt. But he had, though his nightmares were few, he always woke himself with his own screams. And his mother always came quickly and worried. He remembered when she would have a new husband, or in the months before they were married, how he would not see her for days, how he would sometimes cry into his pillow at night for missing her. And the times when it was just the two of them and their days would be spent in laughter and games and at night she would lie next to him on his bed and sing to him until he fell asleep, and sometimes, though very seldom, she would tell him about his father.

After he went to Hogwarts, however, he distanced himself from her both emotionally and physically. He wanted her love and attention still, but now he did not let anyone see the need. And if his cool facade did not deceive his mother, he did not know, for she respected his reserve, no matter how much she might have needed his childish unrestrained love herself.

In fact, though Blaise never knew it, as long as he slept in her house, very few nights passed, even after his eleventh birthday, when his mother did not slip into his room to look at him and sometimes cry over him, and then kiss his forehead and slip back out, always careful not to waken him.

Others would have called her coldblooded and conniving and worse, had they known everything he did, but he knew she really was not, in her heart.

He had never doubted her love for him. He only doubted his love for her. He did not feel safe letting her come close, and yet he was scarcely capable of pushing her away. He knew he was very like her, and he did not want to be, and yet he unconsciously thought her above most other people. He did not know whether to love her or hate her, and so he did both.

"Blaise," said his mother. "Oh Blaise…"

He leaned forward. "How are you, Mother?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine, Blaise. I'm… Blaise, where did you go?"

"Italy," he said briefly.

He saw his mother's eyes widen. But, like him, she was well practiced in hiding her emotions. There was no other sign of surprise.

"Why?" she asked.

"I wanted to," was all Blaise replied.

"Blaise," his mother hesitated, "Blaise…was it your father?"

Blaise hesitated, knowing what the next question would be if he answered. But he didn't lie.

"Yes."

"Did you-find him?" Akila Beaumont's every nerve felt like it was standing on end.

Blaise somehow felt resentful. "I didn't come to talk about that."

He could almost see the battle going on inside his mother's head. The outcome was what he expected.

Akila pushed away her questions and her burning desire for answers and smiled at her son. "I am so glad to see you, Blaise."

His mother used his name more than anyone he knew.

"I found him," Blaise said shortly.

If she had expected him to answer her question now, she gave no sign. It took her a moment to speak.

"So he is alive?" she asked, her voice controlled.

"Seemed to be," Blaise said.

Akila Beaumont took a breath. "Is he…married?"

"No," her son said shortly.

"How is he?"

Her eyes were fastened on his face as if wishing to go inside his memory and see the man for herself. But Blaise knew she would not use Legilimency against him, even though she was quite skilled at it. She respected him and his privacy too much for that, and even if she wouldn't have, his Occlumency was by no means deficient.

"He seemed well enough," Blaise said briefly. "He was a bit surprised to see me. I take it you never mentioned my existence to him?"

Akila pressed her hands together. "Oh, Blaise. I met your father when my parents and I were vacationing in Italy. I…" She trailed off and then seemed to change her mind about what she had been about to say. "We left before I found out I was pregnant. Blaise, I was engaged. I didn't dare write him and then when my fiancé was killed, I…simply didn't know what to do. My parents supposed you were _his_ child, and it seemed easier to let them believe this than telling them the truth…they weren't pleased of course, but since he had just been killed, they felt sorry for me. They would never have let me be with your father, since he was not only Muggleborn, but also poor, and I knew your father would have come to me at once if I told him I'd given birth to his son."

"Didn't it ever occur to you that your parents didn't have to be the ones who controlled your life?" Blaise asked, half angry.

"What do you mean?" his mother returned, puzzled.

"You could have just told them to go jinx themselves and left with my father! He would've taken care of you and-" Blaise broke off. _There would have been no stepfathers. No deaths, none of that. _But he didn't say it. He just looked stormily at his mother.

She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was directed out the window, but her eyes were unfocused. Suddenly, they snapped back to him.

"Oh, Blaise. Perhaps I should have done so, but…"

"You didn't," Blaise finished for her, a note of bitterness in his voice.

Part of him suddenly wondered what his life would have been like if she had-how he would have been different. Finding his father was something he had done because he had wondered if the man was anything like himself. He still did not really know the answer.

To say that Luca Zabini had been surprised to see him was an understatement. He had scarcely been able to believe that the young girl he had spent one spring with was old enough to be the mother of a fully grown young man. In his mind, Akila was still as young as she had been when she had told him goodbye. She had been younger than Blaise was now, and in his father's mind it was almost impossible for Blaise to be telling him the truth. But Blaise had eventually convinced him that he was, in fact, Luca's son. His father had been rather nice about it. Other than that throughout the whole course of their first conversation he kept asking "But why wouldn't she have told me?" and sometimes when Blaise would look up he would see Luca staring at him, half incredulous, half bewildered, the senior Zabini had been quite accepting.

The two of them had spent the summer of Blaise's first year in Italy, and also part of the winter of his second year, together. They had grown to know each other quite well in that time. Luca had made it obvious that he wanted to be acquainted with his son. He had questioned Blaise about his mother, of course, but also asked his son about his life; where he went to school, if he'd liked it, what he was doing with his life now, what he had wanted to do with his life while he was at school, who his friends had been and were now, what about the girls in his life, past and present, and many many more questions such as these. Blaise answered most of the questions honestly, a few he simply told Luca that he didn't want to answer. His father had accepted this as well.

Blaise had asked his father questions as well, and Luca was quite good at answering these, too. He was as honest as Blaise, but a bit more open, though there were also times when he declined giving answers. Both father and son had an innate sense of honesty that didn't allow them to lie to themselves and made them inclined to be honest with others, though to say they always followed their natural inclinations would be false.

They were more alike than either of them recognized. The things about them that were similar were deep things, things that were in their natures, things they had been born with and couldn't have changed if they tried, things that were least obvious to themselves but made them who they were. Blaise was slightly more aware of this than his father. He realized that his instinctive acts resembled his father's most and his learned behaviours were more like his mother's. This made perfect sense to him; after all, it was his mother who had brought him up and he had never known his father. The only things he could possibly have inherited from Luca Zabini were things he had been born with.

Mostly because of Luca's questioning, but also partly for other reasons, Blaise had confided more in his father than he had ever confided in anyone in his life. When Luca had asked his questions about girls, Blaise had seriously considered telling him about Ginny Weasley, but had chosen not to. But in the winter in which they had spent time together, Luca Zabini had told Blaise the story of his parents in much more detail than his mother ever had. Something about this had pushed Blaise into telling his father his own story, much to Luca's interest. When he had finished, Luca had looked at him for a long time before saying:

"You are your mother's son."

Blaise, uncertain whether he wanted to take this as a compliment or not, had said nothing.

Luca had studied him and gone on. "Do you regret it?"

Blaise scarcely needed to think about this. "No, I don't."

He father had nodded. "I didn't think so. No more do I regret being with your mother that spring, and I do not believe she regrets it either. I guess it was in your blood, Blaise. And nothing is more tempting than the forbidden fruit, yes?" He had laughed. "But you're certainly not going to get back together with her?"

"Ah, no," Blaise said flatly. "She's Potter's girl. I reckon they could be married by now."

"When you say Potter…"

"Harry Potter."

"Ah… Even here, we knew of the reign of Lord Voldemort and heard of his defeat by Harry Potter," Luca Zabini observed. "I must say, I never would have supposed I would have a son who is acquainted with this boy."

"I'm not acquainted with him," Blaise denied. "I never even talked to him I don't think."

Luca raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't like him," Blaise muttered, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to this man who had sired him. "Before Ginny, I didn't really care, only thought he was a bit of an arrogant prat…"

"And after, you resented him for catching her heart so securely," Luca finished. "Yes, I can understand that… I never liked your mother's first fiancé much either, though I never met him."

Blaise gave him a look of surprise. "You knew she was engaged and you still…?"

"And I still," his father responded, half smiling. "Perhaps it was wrong, but then, I suppose the whole thing might be called wrong… And from what you told me, you were aware of Ginny Weasley's feelings for Harry Potter from the beginning."

Blaise shrugged.

Luca looked quietly at him. "You know, Blaise, I wouldn't have said I wanted a young man to appear and tell me I'm his father…but since it happened, I'm glad it was you."

* * *

"Blaise…Blaise." His mother's voice recalled him to the present.

His gaze snapped to her face. "Yes?"

"Was he…did he seem glad to see you, Blaise?"

"Well, it's not like he's been dying to meet me for many long years, seeing as he never knew I existed," Blaise stated harshly. "But he was nice about it. Told me he was glad I'm his son."

Akila Beaumont smiled. "He did, really, Blaise?"

"Yeah," Blaise said shortly.

"Oh, perhaps I should have told him…he did always love children. There was this little neighbour girl who adored him…"

Blaise gave his mother a sharp look. Her face was softened in a way he was not accustomed to seeing, and she appeared at be looking at something beyond his range of vision.

"But I didn't, Blaise. And I don't know if I regret it. But, Blaise, I'm glad you went and found him. I'm proud of you, Blaise…" Her voice was quiet and almost tender. He couldn't remember when she had last talked to him like this.

A slight change passed over her features. "Blaise…he didn't ask about me, did he?"

"He did," Blaise said.

She shivered. She knew how honest her son could be, but she also knew how closemouthed he was when he chose to be, and she could only wonder what all he had told his father.

Blaise took pity on her. "I didn't tell him about the other men… Well, I told him you married a couple times but that's all… He felt sorry for you, widowed so often, and said he wished you would've written him or something…but he said he understood why you didn't."

His mother sighed. "He was always so sweet…" she murmured.

Blaise gave her a look.

"I'm sorry, Blaise," she apologized quickly. "Did… What did he say about-when you told him my fiancé died?"

"I didn't tell him," Blaise said. "As far as he knows, your first husband was your first fiancé."

"Oh-oh, Blaise… Thank you." She pressed her fingers to her mouth for moment. Then she removed them and smiled warmly at him. "You know, Blaise, I, too, am very glad you're my son. Our son."

Blaise shifted, uncomfortable.

Akila Beaumont sighed. "Did he say anything more about me, Blaise?"

Blaise hesitated. "He seemed really interested in that you are not married now and asked if I reckon you'd mind if he'd owl you."

His mother's hands were so tightly clasped they hurt, but her voice was calm and controlled when she spoke.

"Blaise…what did you tell him?"

Blaise shrugged. "Told him I don't know and reckon he could try if he wanted to. He said he'd think about it. We didn't talk about you after that."

"Oh…" She bit her lip. "I didn't hear anything from him," she said.

Blaise shrugged again.

"Poor Blaise." His mother's face was not pitying, but apologetic. "This was about you, wasn't it, it was about you and your father, and I'm acting as if I had a part in it."

He shrugged. He hated apologies, they were awkward.

She sighed and smiled. "Have you been back long? What are you doing with yourself, Blaise?"

He shrugged again. "Since October. I've been training to become an Unspeakable."

His mother looked sad, and then smiled. "An Unspeakable? That must be so fascinating… And I don't think you could have chosen a more fitting career for you, Blaise. Even when you were just a baby, you were quiet and seemed to know more than you should…"

Blaise said nothing in response, but he thought that if he had known more than he should have, it was only thanks to her.

Perhaps Akila Beaumont was thinking along the same lines, because she sighed and a look of sorrow passed over her face. She covered it with another smile.

"Do you like it, Blaise?"

He shrugged and nodded.

"But I guess you can't really speak of it," she realized.

"No, I can't," he agreed. He stood suddenly, and after a moment his mother did too. "I reckon I'll be heading back to London now," he said uncomfortably.

She nodded. She followed him to the door and then gave him a warm hug. "Thank you for coming to see me, Blaise. I've missed you."

He said nothing, just hugged her back for a moment and then stepped away.

"Will…will you come again, Blaise?" his mother asked uncertainly.

Blaise shrugged. "I don't get many days off. I'll see."

She nodded as if she didn't expect anything more and smiled at him. "Take care of yourself."

He nodded too. "Goodbye."

She wondered when he had last called her 'Mother'. He seemed to avoid doing it.

"Goodbye, Blaise."


	2. Learning Anew

Blaise didn't have another day off for almost a month, but when it happened again, he sat down to compose a letter to Tracey the evening before.

_Tracey-  
__Would you like to meet me at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade tomorrow around ten? I know it is short notice, sorry about that. But I didn't know my day off was going to be tomorrow until today.  
__Blaise_

He sent it off with some misgivings, which was strange in itself. He went to bed that night without having received an answer. The owl did return though, the next morning, soon after Blaise got up. Tracey's response did not feel, to him, like Tracey.

_Blaise-  
__To be honest, I was planning to send you a refusal. I did have plans. But they were cancelled, so I guess I'll see you at ten.  
__-Tracey_

* * *

He was at the Three Broomsticks before ten, and Tracey arrived promptly on the hour. Blaise was already sitting at a table slightly apart from the others and Tracey didn't see him immediately. As she looked around the pub, he studied her.

She had pulled her hair away from her face with a clip, but whether intentional or accidentally, several strands had escaped. She was dressed in a pretty white and lavender blouse, black jeans, heeled black leather boots, and a matching black leather jacket which she took off soon. She was, Blaise thought, very pretty.

Tracey saw him then and came over, sitting down across from him and smiling at him. "Hello, Blaise."

"Hey, Tracey," he said, returning the smile.

Madame Rosmerta came over. "And what will you two be wanting, then?"

"Oh, a pint of your oak-matured mead, I think," Tracey said.

"Same for me," Blaise decided. "Actually, how about you just bring us a bottle and two glasses?"

"All right then." Madame Rosmerta left again.

"That all right with you?" Blaise asked Tracey.

She smiled a little. "That's fine."

They did not speak again until Madame Rosmerta had brought the mead and glasses and went on her way again. Blaise tipped a generous amount of the honey-coloured liquid into both glasses, and then pushed one towards Tracey.

"Thank you," she said, her hand closing around the glass.

Blaise took a sip of his own drink. "So, how've you been?" he asked, more for the sake of saying something than any other reason.

"Okay," she replied simply. "How are you?"

Blaise shrugged. He wished she would talk. Like she used to. It had never been Blaise who had initiated their conversations.

Tracey suddenly lowered her glass and sighed. "Where have you been?" she asked directly.

"Well, I took my mother to America during the war, you know," Blaise began, relieved. "I didn't want to get involved. And then, two years later we came back, but I left soon, I went to Italy."

"Italy?" Tracey questioned, surprise and curiosity in her dark blue eyes. One hand toyed absently with her white pearl necklace.

"Yeah." Blaise hesitated for a second. "I went to find my father."

Again, Tracey showed surprise. "I guess I never really thought about your father," she admitted honestly. "I just always expected he was one of your mother's husbands."

Blaise wondered at the matter-of-fact way in which she referred to his mother's husbands. "He wasn't," he told Tracey. "I was born before she was married the first time. She met my father when she was on holiday in Italy…and I just happened."

Tracey laughed suddenly. "Zabini, yeah, I didn't really think about that either, but it's an Italian surname, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's my dad's. His name is Luca Zabini."

Tracey looked intrigued. "So you found him, then."

Blaise nodded.

"Did you like him?"

He grinned suddenly. "Yeah, I did."

"What was he like?" she asked.

And Blaise told her. He told her all about Italy and Luca Zabini in much greater detail than he had told his mother, and then he told her everything he knew about his parents' time together.

Tracey was a really good person to talk to, he decided. She listened with the just the right amount of interest and interrupted the perfect amount of times.

But he was surprised at himself for talking so freely. It wasn't Blaise-like, and it did kind of disturb him.

They went for a walk, heading along the High Street, after he was done with his story. The December day was chilly and at first they walked in silence.

Blaise was the one who broke it. "What have you been doing?"

"I got a job at Gringotts not long after the end of the war. I wasn't sure it's what I want to do with my life-still am not, really. But it pays well and it gives me more freedom than some jobs would…and I do like it." She glanced at him. "So I suppose I'll stay there, at least until I find something I want more."

Blaise nodded. "Desk job?"

"Yeah," she said. "In some ways I think I kinda would like to work for the Daily Prophet or maybe Witch Weekly. Like a reporter."

Blaise looked at her. He could see Tracey as a reporter. "Maybe you should."

She smiled at him. "But none of the options open to me seem very appealing. Pansy is working for Witch Weekly, you know."

He nodded again. "You wouldn't like that?"

They had reached the Shrieking Shack. Tracey leaned on the fence and looked up at it while she replied.

"I don't know, really. But they're not at all low on staff-or reporters, so I don't know if it would be a good time to try to start."

"You could send stuff in just to try," Blaise heard himself suggesting.

Tracey looked at him and then she smiled. "Maybe I should. It's not like I have to quit my Gringotts job to write something for Witch Weekly, is it?"

It wasn't really a question and Blaise didn't bother to answer.

"Have you ever been inside?" Tracey asked in an abrupt subject change, gesturing towards the Shrieking Shack.

"No," Blaise said. "The entrances are all sealed, aren't they?"

"Not anymore," Tracey told him. "During the Battle of Hogwarts the Dark Lord blasted open the door and was in here for a while." She hesitated, her hand at her throat, and then added, "Snape was killed in here."

Blaise looked a little startled. "Who killed him?"

"The Dark Lord," Tracey said.

"But I thought Snape was right in his inner circle. Why'd he kill him?" Blaise had a feeling being out of the country when he had been had caused him to miss out on learning a lot of things.

"Snape was a spy for Dumbledore," Tracey explained patiently. "Potter told everyone after it was all over. Apparently Snape was totally in love with Potter's mum, Lily Evans Potter, and when the Dark Lord killed her Snape switched sides. Only I don't think the Dark Lord knew that…" She frowned. "I'm not quite sure why he killed him, really."

Blaise looked back at the Shrieking Shack. "Did they leave it open so people can get in it?"

"Well they put a new door on," Tracey replied. "But they didn't seal it shut. So people can get in now but a lot of the time they don't. Scared to, mostly. You know how it's always been said to be so haunted? Just got worse now. They say Snape haunts it. But I don't believe that really. Can you imagine Snape as a ghost?"

Blaise considered this. "I'd rather not."

Tracey laughed. "Me either. Besides I don't think he would spend his time _here_."

"Have you been in it?" Blaise wondered.

Tracey nodded. "Once, a couple years ago," she said. "A group of us went in-Pansy, Terence and Daphne, and I think Adrian Pucey was with us too."

"You wanna go in now?" Blaise suggested.

Tracey hesitated, then shrugged and nodded. "Sure, why not?" She gave the house another look. "I don't know if I believe that it's haunted, really, but I wouldn't wanna go in alone very much and you couldn't pay me to go in after dark."

"Not even with me?" Blaise asked, a sudden grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

Tracey wrinkled her nose at him. "Maybe with you," she conceded. "But I'd rather go in the daylight."

"All right," he agreed, still grinning. "It seems pretty daylight right now. Come on."

They climbed over the fence and went up to the front door. Blaise tried to open it; it was locked so he used his wand on it. It swung open and he stepped inside, Tracey right behind him.

It didn't look as if it was regularly visited. There was a thick layer of dust on floor of the shadowy hallway. They walked on it somewhat cautiously. The whole shack, they found out, was in a state of sad disrepair and very, very dusty. The first room they went into was a prime example of the rest of this house.

"You know, Blaise, this is sort of creepy," Tracey said, staring at the stains on the floor. "That looks kind of like...blood."

Blaise had to agree. "Ghosts don't bleed," he pointed out. "There definitely used to be something else in here." He looked around at the furniture, every piece of which was damaged. "Something not very cheerful, by the looks of things."

Tracey shivered a little, moving a little closer to Blaise. "It didn't seem quite this-this frightening, last time."

The windows were all boarded up and the room was very gloomy. Blaise felt Tracey brush against him a little and glanced back at her. She looked scared. He smiled a little at her.

"D'you wanna go through the rest of it?"

She shrugged. "Sure, if you want to."

Blaise grinned again and led her out of the room. Almost all of the doors were shut and they only looked briefly into the rooms, most of which rather resembled the first room with boarded up windows, peeling wallpaper, broken furniture, stained floors, and a great deal of dust. Blaise, on closer examination, noticed that though the furniture was very beat up, it did not appear to be worn the way normal furniture might have been.

"It doesn't look like anyone ever lived in here," he observed to Tracey. "I mean, it's all furnished and everything but under all the breaks and scratches the furniture looks about new."

Tracey looked at Blaise as if she was a little worried about his sanity. "The furniture," she told him, "looks ancient."

"It doesn't look like people sat on it a lot," Blaise argued.

Tracey laughed then. "If you say so. I can't tell what might have happened to it before _this_."

Blaise grinned as they headed back down the stairs and out the door. He locked it again behind them and they climbed the fence, pausing to look back at the Shrieking Shack.

"That was fun," Blaise remarked. He was feeling happy, which he found strange simply because happiness wasn't something that came his way often. He wasn't chronically depressed or anything; he just mostly was calm and rather pessimistic, with occasional swings into dark moods. But he liked the feeling of being happy and he grinned at Tracey's answering grimace.

"What, you don't think it was?" he asked her.

She had to smile. "I've had better times," she said. "But I suppose it was kind of fun."

He laughed as they headed back down the hill and Tracey realized how seldom she had heard Blaise laugh without a note of bitterness in his voice, even in the early years of Hogwarts.

* * *

After that Blaise always asked Tracey out on his days off, and often when she said yes they spent most of the day together. But apparently Tracey, unlike him, had a life outside her job and Blaise Zabini. Sometimes she was working and every so often she had other plans. Blaise didn't mind when she was working but somehow it never failed to annoy him when she had other plans. This feeling grew stronger rather than lessening the oftener it happened. He felt, Blaise realized, slightly possessive-as if Tracey had no right to make plans that didn't include him and took her away from him. He knew this was ridiculous; they might be dating but he didn't own her and he had no right to expect her to have no life other than him, especially considering that before several months ago he hadn't had any contact with her for years, and even now he scarcely saw her oftener than once a month. He wasn't even sure he really wanted her to not have a life, but still, he was starting to want badly to spend more time with her, and he hated being denied that pleasure especially as he could only seldom ask for it. Blaise wasn't really aware of it, but he rather associated being happy with being with Tracey, because she had that effect on him. Still, he knew there was such a thing as taking things too fast and for that reason he was always calmly accepting of her saying she had other plans and so far had only twice taken her out to eat after he came off work, which was always rather late.

He had thought he knew Tracey rather well; he had gone to school with her for six and a half years and she had been one of the few people he might have called his friend; but now he couldn't help thinking he hadn't ever really known her at all. There was a great deal more to Tracey Davis than he had ever known. And some of it was quite superficial stuff, such as who her family was.

Blaise had known she was half-blood and that she lived with her mother but he had never known anything about her father and it wasn't until the third time they spent the day together that Tracey told him that she didn't know much about her father either. He had been a Muggle and he had raped her mother, in the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts. Her mother's older brother had gone after him in a mad fury and earned himself a life in Azkaban for his pains. Tracey had never known this uncle, who had died a few years earlier. Her mother had never married; she shared a house with her younger brother who was not married either.

Tracey told him this story matter-of-factly, and then waited patiently for his response. Blaise really did not know what to say.

"I never guessed," he told her honestly. "I mean, I just reckoned you'd had an easy childhood-you were always so cheerful. Still are."

The corners of Tracey's mouth lifted. "Well, you know, Blaise, I did have an easy childhood. Mum and my uncle took good care of me and I was always loved."

Blaise looked thoughtfully at her. "When did you find out about who your dad was?"

"Mum never lied to me about it," Tracey told him. "But I didn't find out until I was fourteen. I asked when I was younger of course, but my mother told me it wasn't a happy story and she would tell me when I was fourteen. So the day after my fourteenth birthday, she did. I was really upset at first."

"But you seem to be okay with it now?" It came out sounding like a question.

"Well…" Tracey looked away, out over the Muggle park they were in because she had wanted to come. "I don't know. I still hate thinking that I was created from something like _that_. And how much it hurt my mother, both physically and otherwise… But she told me often that I am the best thing that ever happened to her and if erasing that happening meant erasing me she wouldn't want to do it, and I know she loves me a lot. But, you know, Blaise, I _like_ existing. So maybe I'm not completely sorry I can't make so it didn't happen." She looked at him. "Though if somehow my father could have been a decent man who would've married my mother instead of doing it like that-that would have been better. But as it is…" She shrugged. "You know, Blaise, I think I've been very lucky. Even if I never had a dad, I've always had my uncle who is a lot better than some girls' real father."

Blaise nodded, watching Tracey with some wonder. She held his gaze for a moment and then dropped her eyes. Maybe some of his thoughts showed in his face because her cheeks were faintly pink.

"They'd like to meet you, you know," she told him a little abruptly. "My mother and uncle I mean."

* * *

Blaise scowled. Then he scowled again as Tracey laughed at him.

"Oh come on, Blaise, it's not that bad!" She knocked on the door of the small house and then opened it without waiting for an answer.

"Yeah it is," Blaise muttered quietly as he followed her over the threshold.

"Tracey?" A woman had come into the hall.

"Hey Mum," Tracey said, returning the hug which her mother was bestowing on her. "And this is Blaise Zabini. Blaise, this is my mum, Ms. Davis."

Blaise shook hands with Tracey's mother, who looked at him keenly and then smiled.

"Hello, Blaise," she said warmly. "It's a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure's all mine." Blaise gave her one of his well-practiced smiles. He had learned early on how to be charming; he just often chose not to bother with it.

She beamed back at him as a man joined them, which filled the small front hall rather full.

"Hey, Tate." He kissed Tracey's forehead before turning his gaze towards Blaise.

"Hi, Uncle Marc." She smiled and then turned to Blaise. "Blaise, this is my uncle, Marc Davis."

Blaise shook hands with Tracey's uncle, meeting his eyes steadily. Though he wasn't the one who had gone to Azkaban for avenging his sister, Blaise thought he looked as if he might follow in his older brother's footsteps if anyone harmed Tracey. His face was neither friendly nor unfriendly, but carefully calculating.

"Let's go on in, shall we?" Ms. Davis suggested.

They accordingly headed out into the kitchen, where Ms. Davis resumed her dinner preparations and Tracey went to help her. Blaise wished she wouldn't; being left alone with Marc Davis seemed like a recipe for awkward silence to him. But the older man joined his sister and niece in the kitchen, apparently quite at home there.

Blaise paused in the doorway, watching the three of them. They looked very much like a family. They worked together comfortably, and they looked rather alike; all three of them were tall and fair. Blaise thought Tracey might look something like her mother in about twenty years, except Tracey had a bit of fire in her that Ms. Davis seemed utterly lacking in and somehow it made a great deal of difference.

Tracey looked up and laughed. "You don't have to stand in the doorway, Blaise. Sit down." She gestured towards the table. "The food is just about ready anyway."

She sent a stack of china plates and cutlery towards the table, causing it to set itself. Blaise went and sat down, avoiding the crystal goblets now soaring over to arrange themselves neatly by every place setting.

"Could you light those candles, Blaise?" Tracey called, turning back to the food preparations.

"Sure," Blaise responded, pulling out his wand.

After the meal Tracey persuaded Blaise to play wizard's chess with her, and then with her uncle, while her mother looked on. Marc Davis was very good at chess and he had taught his niece, but Blaise wasn't too shabby at it either, and because he was Blaise, did his absolute best to win at least as much as he lost.

They left a little after nine, walking down the street a little way in silence. Blaise didn't feel willing to give Tracey up yet, especially as he didn't feel he had properly had her this evening.

"You want to go get ice cream?" he suggested.

Tracey looked surprised and then smiled. "Sure."

He grabbed her arm and Apparated them to Diagon Alley. They walked down the street to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. They sat and after a moment a young witch came over to take their order. Blaise frowned after her as she went inside to fetch their ice cream.

"Where's Fortescue?"

Tracey looked away, one hand reaching up to play with her necklace, which Blaise had learned was something she did when she was uncomfortable.

"Don't tell me he got killed too," he said, so she wouldn't have to.

Tracey looked at him. "Yeah…he did. He got kidnapped and then they murdered him. I never found out why."

"Who's the bird?" Blaise asked, gesturing towards the young woman who was bringing them their ice creams now.

Tracey waited to answer until she was gone again. "She's Florean Fortescue's niece, I think," she explained.

He nodded and suddenly frowned. "I feel like a bit of a tosser."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

Blaise looked away from her wide dark blue eyes. "Because I went to America like…"

Tracey, with that uncanny ability she had of understanding what Blaise meant without him explaining it, nodded. "I glad you did," she told him.

Blaise appreciated that she didn't feel the need to finish his sentence; he would rather not hear it put into words anyway.

"Why?" he asked, unable to see why she would be.

"If you would have stayed you would've had to pick a side… And if you would've picked the side that won you would have had trouble during the war and if you would've picked the side that lost you would've had trouble after."

"What about you?" Blaise asked. "You stayed."

"Yeah but… I'm a girl, and I was part of Pansy's gang. So everyone just imagined I agreed with Pansy, like they always did. But after it was all over… Well Potter's side isn't as vicious as the Dark Lord's was and it mattered to them that I had never done anything for the other side. I don't think it would have been that easy for you."


	3. To Say Yes

The first Sunday in April Blaise's mother asked him to come for breakfast. There was such a note of urgency in her letter to him that he agreed without hesitation and went.

Akila Beaumont's first move was to hug her son, her second was to hand him a letter.

"What is it?" he asked, not opening it.

"You can read it," she said. "It's from your father, Blaise."

Blaise knew this already. He and Luca Zabini had been exchanging letters regularly ever since he had come back to England, so he had recognised the firm script.

But at her invitation, he read it. The letter was brief. He had first mentioned Blaise, his visit, and his suggestion of Luca contacting Akila. Luca's style was friendly but nothing more as he went on to ask if Akila would agree to him coming to visit her in a month's time. Only in the last few lines was there any hint of anything more.

_Please do not hesitate to say so if you would rather I not come. I would quite understand. Forgive me, but more than twenty-five years has not yet been enough to remove you from my memory, and I must confess I wish to see you again. I await your reply._  
_I am your servant,_  
_Luca Zabini._

Blaise folded up the letter and looked up at his mother, who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, looking almost frightened.

"I haven't written him back yet," she told Blaise. "I only got it last night. I'm…not sure what to say."

"Well, do you want him to come?" Blaise asked briefly.

His mother's hands fluttered nervously. "Yes-no-I don't know, Blaise. I want to see him but… Blaise, I-I'm not the girl he fell in love with. I was-I've done things-" She broke off, looking troubled.

They had never talked about this and Blaise didn't wish to now.

"I reckon he knows you're not the girl he knew. He asked to come see you, not if you'd marry him." Blaise glanced down at the letter. "He was pretty careful about what he said, if you ask me."

"That's true," Akila Beaumont agreed. She still seemed nervous.

At that moment a house-elf came scurrying into the foyer where they were still standing. "Breakfast is ready for mistress and sir," she informed them squeakily.

"Yes, yes, Nonie," her mistress replied absently. "In a moment."

"Yes, mistress," the house-elf agreed at once, and scurried away again.

Akila Beaumont looked at her son. "Blaise, I-I don't want him to be disappointed in me."

Blaise looked at her and suddenly, in spite of himself, he felt a bit of sympathy for his mother.

"It'll be all right," he said bracingly. "Just owl him back. If it's not worth the risk, tell him no."

His mother looked alarmed at the idea. "I want to see him too much for that," she confessed after a moment. "I'm sure he'll want to see you as well, Blaise; you'll visit while he's here?"

Blaise shrugged. "If you wish it."

"I do," she said. "Now, Blaise, we had better go in for breakfast."

As she had taught him, he offered her his arm. She took it and they headed for the dining room.

* * *

Tracey also taught Blaise how to appreciate simple sweet things, such as rain. Blaise had never much liked rain, avoiding being in it whenever possible. But one spring day it rained when Blaise and Tracey were hiking-hiking was something else that Blaise would never have done on his own, but because Tracey wanted to, he went with her and enjoyed it.

They were almost back to their Disapparation point when the clouds opened and heavy drops began to fall. Blaise suggested they just Disapparate from where they were but Tracey objected.

"Blaise," she said, "Haven't you ever taken a walk in the rain?"

"Not by choice," Blaise told her.

"Well, you should try it." Tracey smiled at him. "Come on."

Blaise fell into step with her. They really were not hiking anymore, merely walking across a very large meadow. The rain fell thicker and faster, saturating Tracey's hair and both their clothing.

Tracey suddenly stopped and looked at Blaise. "Don't you like it?"

Blaise didn't really. He shrugged.

She laughed. "Come on, it's beautiful." She lifted her hands towards the clouds, still watching Blaise's face.

Blaise grinned suddenly. Without thinking why, he reached out and grabbed Tracey's waist, and then spun her around. Tracey laughed in delight. She leaned back, letting his hands be the only things that kept her from falling. Face lifted to the heavens, arms outstretched, she laughed again, sounding so pleased that Blaise found himself laughing too as he twirled her around, both of them soaking wet now.

He slowed, and then stopped. She lowered her face and her arms, looking at him, both of them sober now. Then she moved forward, slipping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest. For a moment, Blaise hesitated, and then he gathered her closer to him. It was the first time he had held her.

* * *

Blaise moved slowly in this. Perhaps it had something to do with how he had kissed Ginny Weasley in the beginning, but for whatever reason he was the very opposite of pushy. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch Tracey; after the first time he held her in his arms, he almost never again spent time with her without giving her a hug at some point, and they touched often. But still he had some reservations, felt something holding him back, and he didn't kiss her.

* * *

By this time his training had slowed down slightly. Instead of having a day off once a month, he had Sundays free, and sometimes Saturdays as well. He usually spent at least one of these days with Tracey and it was one Sunday when they were relaxing in her flat that she brought up the subject of his mother.

"I want to meet your mother, Blaise," she told him.

She had been staring into space, thinking, for the past half hour and Blaise was half asleep, lying with his head on her lap.

"What?" he asked, called back to wakefulness by her voice.

"I want to meet your mother," she repeated.

Blaise sat up. "Why?" he asked warily.

"Because she is your mother," Tracey said patiently.

Blaise frowned and said nothing. He could not have said why, exactly, but he was not sure he liked the idea of Tracey and his mother having anything to do with each other.

Tracey sighed. "Blaise, don't you think family is important?"

"I reckon. Why?"

"Because I do. I think family is really important because that's a big part of what makes you who you are." She stopped, toying with her necklace.

Blaise frowned. "Look, Tracey… My mother and I… It's not like how it is with you and your mum."

Tracey looked at him. "I know that, Blaise. My mum would kill me if I went to see her only about once a month."

Blaise's mother didn't much like it either, but she gave Blaise his space, like she always had done when he wanted it.

"But she's still your mother…" Tracey wasn't looking at him anymore.

Blaise hesitated. "Trace…"

"What?"

Again he hesitated, and then he chose to change the subject. "I'm hungry. You wanna go somewhere?"

Tracey glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's not quite four… We can just get a snack from my kitchen if you like."

"Sure."

In the kitchen Tracey made him a sandwich in silence. Blaise knew she wasn't pleased that he had turned his back on her request without really giving her an answer, but he thought he probably ought to figure out _why_ he wanted to say no before he said it, and, if his reason wasn't good enough, he probably ought not to say it at all.

Tracey brought him a plate with his sandwich and also some crisps. She set it, along with a glass of pumpkin juice, on the table in front of him, and then went to get herself a glass of juice as well before sitting down across from him. She sipped the drink and quietly watched him eat. He wished she wouldn't. He also wished she would talk, but about something other than his mother.

Finally he broke the silence himself, because he felt like he couldn't stand it much longer. "This is really good. Thanks."

Tracey eyed him and then said, "You're welcome." She took another sip of pumpkin juice. "You know, Blaise, I liked the way you told me all about your father."

Blaise shifted in his seat and realised he had known that Tracey wouldn't let it go that easily.

"Why is it that you never talk about your mother? You don't even mention her unless I ask."

He shrugged.

Tracey took a crisp from his plate and ate it. "You know, Blaise, I like you. I like you a lot."

Blaise looked at Tracey's slightly tense face. They had been together for a little over four months now, and he knew that he was truly serious about her. He also knew she had stopped seeing Quil Rivers, whom she had been casually dating. But they had never really discussed their relationship and where it might be going; he had a feeling she had been waiting on him for that. And looking at her now, he knew she could very easily be made to regret telling him this, if he wasn't careful with his response. That he had already known she liked him a lot wasn't important.

But he also knew that she hadn't just told him so for the sake of telling him so; this was also about in her desire to meet his mother, to know his mother.

"Why is meeting my mother so important to you?" he asked her, being careful to keep voice gentle. "I am who I am, and she isn't such a big part of me. I told you we aren't like you and your mother."

"Yes, I know," Tracey responded. "But you know, Blaise, I think she's a bigger part of you than you realise. And I know so little about her. I feel as if you don't want me to know her."

"Maybe I don't," Blaise admitted.

Tracey looked slightly hurt. "Why not, Blaise? Am I not good enough to meet your mother?"

Blaise was genuinely shocked that this was the conclusion she would draw. "Of course you're good enough to meet her. You're…" He hesitated. "Maybe you're too good."

Tracey raised her eyebrows, clearly not understanding how he worked this one out.

Blaise felt frustrated now. He was beginning to realise that the reason he wanted to keep Tracey away from his mother was because he didn't want to share his mother's story with Tracey. Not because he didn't trust her, but because he both didn't want Tracey to know that about his mother-apparently Blaise was fond enough of his mother for _that_-and he didn't want Tracey to look at him differently because of the childhood he'd had.

"What do you mean by that?" Tracey asked finally when Blaise merely frowned rather than elaborating.

"Trace…" It was almost a groan. Blaise leaned forward, his head in his hands, realising that, Tracey being Tracey and his relationship with her and his feelings for her being what they were, he was not going to be able to keep his mother's past-and his own, from her forever. But that didn't mean the telling was going to be easy.

Tracey moved to kneel next to Blaise, concern in her blue eyes. She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Blaise?"

He didn't turn his head to look at her. "You must have heard the rumours about my mother, Trace."

He felt the hand on his shoulder tense slightly. "Yes…"

"Could you honestly believe that it's just a coincidence that my mother was widowed seven times?" He laughed bitterly.

Tracey drew a breath, but she said nothing. Blaise didn't blame her. What was she supposed to say?

"It wasn't," he assured her, his voice harsh. "And I knew it. She did some terrible things, my mother, things she could've gone to Azkaban for." He hesitated, but somehow he couldn't quite stifle the urge to defend her. "She's not a bad person," he said firmly. "She's done bad things, but it's hard to believe she'd be capable of them if you haven't seen her do them. I don't know if she would be capable of them anymore. She's a bit softer than she used to be… She used to be a little desperate. And she didn't kill all her husbands."

Tracey made a soft noise and this time he looked at her. She was staring at him, her eyes wide and troubled.

"She loves me, you know," Blaise said, frowning. "She always did. It never seemed like she cared much about anyone else though-not always herself even. She tried hard to be a good mother, but she wasn't a very good wife. And a lot of the men she married weren't very good husbands, either. But… My mother was always searching, but she never found what she was looking for in the men she married and most of them realised, after a while, that she'd come to hate them. Because she almost always did, in the end. There were a couple that were decent men, and she left them alone. One of them killed himself, actually. He was in love with her, and it drove him mad when she suddenly stopped seeing him. The other one was killed in an accident. He was the first man she'd married, and they were married for the longest-five years. I'd liked him. He was nice to me…" Blaise's voice trailed away. His eyes were focused on something Tracey could not see, did not wish to see.

She had guessed that Blaise's childhood had not been pleasant. Apart from the rumours about Blaise's mother, Blaise himself had been so withdrawn and always had a streak of something unidentifiable that spoke of something gone very wrong. She had known instinctively that Blaise shouldn't have been the way he was and she had, from the first time she met him, been intrigued that he was that way. Now, she almost wished she wasn't finding out why exactly. It was difficult to listen to.

He looked at her suddenly, frowning again. "I didn't want to tell you about her, you know. I don't want you to have a bad opinion of my mother-though I'm not sure why not. And I didn't want you to think of me differently because of-that."

Tracey stood up and put her arms around him. He leaned his head again her stomach and she stroked his cheek.

"You're still Blaise," she said quietly. "I just understand better now, why you are Blaise the way you are. Right now, that's almost all I can think about, but once I've soaked it in a bit more it'll just be another part of you. Not nearly the most important part though, because it's not because of who you are that that is what your childhood was like…" Tracey spoke musingly, more to herself than to him.

After several moments of silence, Blaise lifted his head so that he could look at Tracey. She met his gaze in the same way as ever, and he loved her for it.

"Do you still want to meet my mother?" he asked.

Tracey's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Of course," she said in a tone that implied that there should be no doubt in the matter. "She's your mother and you said she loves you. Anyone who loves can't be a truly bad person, you know, Blaise. And if she loves you I'm sure I'll like her."

Blaise stared at her. She was perfect, he thought. Right then he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this young woman. He also, perhaps because of this fact, knew that he wanted to kiss her and felt no uncertainty about the idea whatsoever. So, he stood up and did it.

* * *

So it was that a week later, Blaise and Tracey were standing at the front door of Akila Beaumont's manor home. Blaise reached out and lifted the knocker, letting it fall against the door once.

It was Tabby the house-elf who answered the knock. He bowed low at the sight of them. "Please step inside, Master Blaise. Tabby will go call his mistress."

Blaise nodded to the elf and they entered the house. They had only to wait a couple minutes before his mother came hurrying into the foyer.

"Blaise!" She gave him her usual embrace before turning, a smile on her beautiful face, to Tracey.

"This is Tracey Davis," Blaise said, even though he knew his mother must have guessed. "And this is my mother."

"I am delighted to meet you," Akila said, and looked it.

Tracey couldn't have resisted smiling back at that face even if she had wanted to. She had often heard Akila Beaumont described as one of the most beautiful women in the world, and she did not doubt the truth of this statement.

"Thank you so much for inviting me," she said.

Akila beamed at her and then said, "I think the dinner is ready. If you will follow me…"

She led them to the dining room. Akila Beaumont was not called charming for nothing. All through the meal she kept a light conversation going and Blaise could see Tracey slowly becoming less tense, until she seemed almost relaxed and was chatting animatedly with his mother. He felt a mixture of exasperation and pride, and thought that if he hadn't told Tracey anything about his mother there would certainly have been no danger of Akila betraying the story.

After they were done eating they went into a sitting room, where, for the first time, a silence fell. Akila Beaumont seemed to be waiting for something, or perhaps she had actually run out of topics for her light conversation for the moment.

"Did you hear anything from my father?" Blaise asked before she could start talking again.

"Yes, I did," his mother said. "The owl came Friday morning. He said he'll be here this next Tuesday."

"Your father's coming?" Tracey sounded faintly surprised.

Blaise looked at her. "Yeah, he's coming to see her."

Tracey looked at his mother, eyes alight. "That's lovely," she said.

Blaise shrugged a little impatiently, but Akila smiled at Tracey.

"It is," she agreed. "I have not seen him in over twenty-five years…" she observed musingly. She looked suddenly at Blaise. "It's hard to believe you are twenty-five, Blaise," she said, smiling suddenly. "I remember the day you were born so very well."

Tracey realised with amazement that the woman in front of her, since she was Blaise's mother, was almost certainly over forty years old. It seemed impossible. She could have passed for Blaise's sister, or perhaps even his wife. She had an ageless, timeless feeling about her that made her seem both young and ancient all at once, but her face was smooth and unlined, her hair dark as night. Tracey knew there was a great deal more to Akila Beaumont than met the eye, but she thought this woman, who was at least three years older than her own mother and yet looked more than ten years younger, was certainly fascinating. She couldn't blame Blaise's father for wanting to find her again, having had her once.

The rest of the evening passed in much the same manner. Around eight Blaise suggested they walk down to the nearby lake. His mother declined, saying Blaise and Tracey should go without her, so they did.

"She has a beautiful home," Tracey observed as they followed the winding path down to the water.

"Yeah well, she might as well have," Blaise said indifferently.

"Do you resent her, Blaise?"

Blaise shrugged, not looking at Tracey. "Why would I?"

"Because she was the one who made the wrong choices that caused you to have such a childhood," Tracey answered at once.

Blaise stared at her for a moment, and then he shrugged again and looked away. "Maybe a bit, sometimes… Can you believe that that woman is the same one I told you about?"

Tracey frowned a little. "I can…because I know you wouldn't lie to me. But she is certainly…"

"Not what you'd expect a murderess to be," Blaise finished for her.

Tracey frowned at him. "I wish you wouldn't say that."

"Why not?"

"It's not nice. She _is_ your mother… And I think she regrets it; she looks very sad sometimes."

Blaise shrugged. "If you say so."

They had reached the lakeshore now. Blaise led her out to a small gazebo on the water and they sat.

"Are you glad your father's coming?" Tracey asked.

Blaise shrugged. "I reckon."

"You don't sound like you mean that very much," Tracey observed, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards slightly. "Do you not want them to get together again? Something very good came out of it last time." She smiled at him.

He smiled back because when Tracey smiled like that it was very difficult to not return it, but he sobered almost at once. "I don't know. I reckon I don't care if they do."

"Really?" Tracey was sober now too, looking at him with her clear blue eyes.

Blaise shrugged. Standing, he moved over to the edge of the gazebo, staring out across the lake. Tracey followed, coming to stand next to him. She leaned against the half-wall, facing Blaise, and waited for him to speak.

"I reckon I didn't think about this. When I went to find him. I never expected him to come after _her_."

"No…" Tracey agreed thoughtfully. "But looking at it from his point of view, it makes perfect sense. You do resemble your mother just a bit, you know, Blaise. And he couldn't help being reminded of her because you _are_ her son, and his son, and he knew that. So it's only natural that he'd start thinking about her and wondering…and you know, Blaise, your mother really is a fascinating woman-not just because she's beautiful, but also because you can tell there is a great deal behind that beauty and it does make one curious."

Blaise shifted. He didn't want Tracey to think badly of his mother, but somehow he didn't much like hearing her going on like this either.

"You sort of give the same impression, you know," Tracey went on, smiling a little again. "Like there is a lot behind that handsome face if one only hangs around long enough to find it out."

He looked at her. She was studying him, a slightly pensive expression on her face, but when she saw his eyes moving over her face she looked away as if slightly embarrassed. Blaise reached out and caught her chin in his hand, lifting it slightly. Her eyes came up to meet his and he smiled at her before lowering his mouth to hers.

"Is that a good thing then?" he asked her eventually.

She laughed a little tremulously. "Yes, it is…I think."

They stood in silence, close but not touching, looking out at the lake and not thinking of it.

Tracey stirred. "Why don't we go back up to the house? We sort of abandoned your mother."

"All right," Blaise agreed easily, and they headed towards the house.

As they bade his mother goodnight, Blaise looked at the two women and thought that, beautiful though his mother might be, Tracey could hold her own even next to Akila. The two looked so different that you could not really compare them.

* * *

**A/N: You people! Here's another one but I am going to wickedly announce that I'm not posting any more chapters without being reviewed. (This seems like the appropriate time to cackle insanely.) Good day to ya'll!**


	4. Til the Bells Chime

A week later, and Blaise was once more standing outside his mother's front door, though this time he was alone. Again, it was Tabby who let him in.

"Are my-parents-" The word seemed strange to Blaise; he didn't think he'd ever used it before and he'd certainly never known them to be in one place. "Where are they?" he asked instead of completing his original sentence.

"Mr. Zabini and Tabby's mistress are in the drawing room, sir. Shall Tabby summon his mistress?" the house-elf asked, bowing.

Blaise glanced around. "No, I'll just go on in."

The door to the drawing room was slightly ajar and Blaise knocked on it but did not wait for a reply before entering.

"Blaise!" Luca Zabini crossed the room with quick strides and clasped Blaise's hand briefly, then changed his mind and embraced his son. "It is very good to see you again," he said, stepping back and beaming at Blaise.

"Good to see you too," Blaise replied, grinning back at his father.

They stood for a moment, looking at each other, and then his mother came over to give Blaise the customary hug.

"I'm so glad you could come, Blaise." She smiled warmly at him, and Blaise thought she looked a bit different than the last time he had seen her, though he didn't know how.

"Sit down, Blaise," she invited. "Nonie will let us know when the luncheon is ready but she hasn't come yet. And after lunch…well, your father has some strange notions." She smiled at Luca. "For some reason, he thinks we want to go boating down on the lake. So if you don't object, Blaise, we'll spend the afternoon on the water."

Blaise shrugged and sat. "Fine by me."

"It is a beautiful day," Luca said firmly. "And there is no better place to enjoy it than on the water. You will like it," he assured Akila, smiling as well.

"I'm sure I shall."

Blaise had never seen his mother smile so much. She looked very happy, and he couldn't remember ever seeing her do that, either. He felt rather like he was interrupting something between just the two of them, like he ought not to be there.

Nonie entered the room at that moment. "The luncheon is ready, mistress, whenever mistress and sirs are ready to step into the dining room."

"Yes, thank you, Nonie," Akila said, her happiness including even the house-elf apparently. "We will come right away."

"Yes, mistress," Nonie squeaked, and scurried away.

Luca rose and offered an arm to Akila. "Might I have the honour?"

Akila dimpled. "I would be delighted."

The meal was not unpleasant, Blaise thought, and the boating could even have been fun if he had not felt, quite honestly, bored. It made him a little uncomfortable, watching his parents, and mostly he just wanted to leave them alone. He regretted very much that Tracey had promised her mother she would spend the day there.

Blaise chose to take his leave around four o'clock. Both his parents saw him to the door.

"I think I will have to come visit you alone, Blaise," Luca remarked. "For as long as this distracting little woman is around, we will not be able to hold a proper conversation at all. Perhaps sometime this next week?"

"Yeah, sure. Owl me, we can figure something out," Blaise agreed.

"Thank you for coming, Blaise." Akila hugged him again.

Blaise nodded. "I'll see you later," he said to her.

"Goodbye, Blaise," his father said.

As Blaise headed down the long path towards the road, he glanced back and saw that Luca had put his arm around Akila's shoulders. They were talking, and from the looks on their faces the conversation was deeply enjoyable.

* * *

True to his word, Luca Zabini owled Blaise the next day and on Wednesday evening they went out to eat together. It was not an unpleasant meal, but before Luca said goodnight he asked Blaise a question that left him with mixed feelings, though he couldn't have said he hadn't seen it coming.

"How would you feel about it if I was to-finally-marry your mother, Blaise?"

Blaise said he didn't know, which was true. The idea of his parents being married was something he couldn't quite get used to, if he had been turning it over in his mind ever since reading that letter.

"I won't lie to you," Luca Zabini said. "I have already decided to ask her to marry me. But I wouldn't like to think you-our son, would hate it. After all, you were the one who brought us together."

"I didn't mean to," Blaise said bluntly.

Luca smiled. "I know that. But be that as it may, I would never have sought your mother out if you would not have reopened that chapter in my life."

Blaise shrugged. "So you haven't asked her yet?"

"No, I have not." Luca shrugged too. "It's a bit strange that I would ask you first, but I wanted to know what your feelings are on the matter."

"Don't see how it matters much what I think," Blaise replied. "You said it won't make any difference."

"No, Blaise, it would mean a great deal to both of us, knowing that you would not resent it."

Blaise shrugged again. "Go ahead then. I reckon it's what she wants anyway."

Luca studied him a moment. "Thank you, Blaise," he said finally.

* * *

As soon as Blaise got back to his flat he owled Tracey, telling her he needed to see her. It seemed to take a long time for her to respond, and even when the owl came, it was short and did not say what he wanted it to.

_Blaise-  
Do you want to come to my flat for supper tomorrow? What time to you get off?  
-Tracey_

He wanted to see her _now,_ not tomorrow after another long day of training, but he scrawled an assent anyway.

* * *

So, ten minutes after he left the Ministry, Tracey opened the door to see Blaise frowning at her.

"Hi," she said, raising her eyebrows at his scowl. "You don't seem particularly pleased to see me."

Blaise sighed suddenly and stepped inside, gathering Tracey into his arms. She hugged him back but pulled away sooner than he would have preferred.

"Blaise? Is something wrong?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Do I get any supper?"

Tracey's mouth twisted downwards slightly, but she said, "Of course. It's ready. Come on out to the kitchen."

Tracey chatted lightly while they ate, telling him about her day. She set the dishes to washing themselves and carried cups of coffee into the living room for them.

"So how was your day?" she asked him once they were sitting on the sofa.

Blaise shrugged. "It was okay. Long."

"You're tired," Tracey said quietly.

He nodded and shrugged, and she smiled a little. After a moment he handed her his coffee cup and lay down with his head on her lap. She set both cups on the side table and began absently tracing patterns on his face, letting the silence stretch on and on. It wasn't a waiting silence, and Blaise wondered why not. She knew something was up but she didn't seem to even be thinking about it.

He stirred restlessly under her fingers and she looked down at him.

"My parents are getting married," he said.

He knew Tracey's natural reaction would be joy, that she would see this as a good thing. He could see it in her eyes, the words hovering on her lips, but only momentarily. She swallowed the words, replaced the pleasure with an inquiring look.

"Does that bother you?"

Blaise shrugged. "I reckon I knew it would come ever since I read that letter. Maybe even before…" He hesitated. "I told him to go ahead and do it."

"He asked you?"

"Yeah…"

The corners of Tracey's mouth twitched. "That's a new one. Usually you would ask the father of the woman, rather than the son."

Blaise couldn't help grinning back at her, but it didn't last long. "Yeah well, he wasn't asking for permission exactly… He told me he was gonna do it anyway. He just didn't want me to hate it."

Tracey still smiled a little. Her fingers, which had stilled, resumed their gentle circular movements across his cheek. "So you told him you wouldn't?"

Blaise shrugged. "Didn't much matter what I thought."

She nodded, not bothering to dispute the fact. "Though he cared enough to ask. Did you spend time alone with him Sunday, then?"

"No… We ate together last night."

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "So he asked her already?"

Blaise shrugged again. "I don't know."

"So you don't know for sure that they will get married," she pointed out, half questioningly.

"She'll say yes." Blaise had no doubts about this. "She was never one for saying no to a man, anyway. Not when he was asking her to marry him."

"Never?"

"Well, I guess she must have sometimes," Blaise conceded. "But she'll say yes to him."

Tracey accepted this with a nod. "You don't think she deserves a happy ending?"

Blaise turned his head to look into those blue eyes. "Do _you_?"

She hesitated. "I…don't really know, Blaise. Maybe she does. Maybe she needs it. But…it wasn't me she hurt."

* * *

Two days later Blaise was approached by an owl during his lunch break. After accepting the letter and scanning it quickly, he dropped it on the table and sighed. It did not say much, the letter, merely asked if she could come to his flat that evening. But he knew what had prompted her to ask, though he didn't know what she wanted of him. After a moment he scrawled a response, telling her that she could come if she wanted and also the time he would be home.

She came directly on time, knocking on the door of his flat eagerly, and when he opened the door she flung her arms around him all joy.

"We're going to be married, Blaise!"

Blaise resisted the urge to say "Why?" He sighed and endured her delighted embrace a moment longer before removing her arms and leading her into his flat.

"You don't seem surprised," she noted as she trailed after him into the kitchen.

"Reckon I'm not."

Blaise wanted some firewhiskey but after a glance at his mother he chose a bottle of chardonnay instead.

She accepted the goblet but frowned at him. "You-you don't mind, Blaise, do you?"

Blaise looked at his mother, the small crease between her eyes, her slightly parted, uncertain lips, the silent plea written across her face, and he fought a brief, silent battle with himself. Then he sighed and put down the bottle.

"No, Mother," he said quietly. "I don't mind."

To his surprise, tears formed in his mother's grey eyes. "Oh, Blaise…" she whispered. "I'm so happy. Thank you so much."

* * *

It was to be a quiet wedding, his mother said, just a small affair. Not much fuss. But Blaise soon decided that if this was a quiet, small, not much fuss wedding, he never in his life wanted anything to do with the other sort. True, there weren't many wedding guests. But it seemed to him there were so many _things_-clothing and food and drink and decorations and more that he didn't bother take notice of.

Blaise, it turned out, was a great deal involved in the wedding preparations-much to his surprise. Because, for some reason he couldn't fathom, Tracey had somehow become his mother's biggest helper. The two spent hours poring over material, making lists of everything under the sun, discussing who should be invited and countless other things. Blaise didn't want to be part of this, and said so, but somehow nearly all the time he had away from the Ministry was spent at his mother's manor, listening to Tracey and Akila 'talking wedding' intensely while Luca sat off to the side, an iced drink in hand, frequently contributing a sentence or two-Akila asked for Luca's opinion rather a lot.

The wedding date was set for May 26th, and Akila said that was no time at all to get ready for a wedding and Luca must be mad to think she could manage. His response was a cheerful "Let us just go do it right now, and skip all this bother." But Blaise could easily tell his mother was enjoying herself, and just as obviously his father was enjoying watching Akila enjoy herself.

But there was more to it than just getting ready for the wedding. Blaise's parents were going to Italy after they were married, and the manor would be shut up-at least for now.

"We might come back," Luca said. "But we do not know if it would be in two years or ten or twenty. So we had better plan accordingly."

And they did. Much of it the house-elves could do, but there were many decisions Akila had to make that took time.

* * *

One evening as Akila and Tracey sat together, guest list between them, his mother turned to Blaise.

"Oh, Blaise, we've been meaning to ask-is there anyone you would like to have invited?"

Blaise was sitting at the table with them, but he hadn't been paying much attention. He looked up now, saying, "Huh?"

"Would you like to invite some of your friends to the wedding?"

Blaise looked at Tracey. "I don't know; ask her."

Tracey rolled her eyes at him. "She was asking you. I'm not her daughter; it would be dumb for me to try to add to the guest list."

"Oh, but is there someone you would like me to invite for you, dear?" Akila asked at once, turning to the younger woman.

Tracey laughed. "No, really, Akila, thank you, but it isn't my wedding. I mean, really it hasn't got anything to do with me."

"Oh, but Tracey, you're helping me so much, you're starting to seem indispensable."

"It hasn't got anything to do with you?" Blaise asked in disbelief. "Trace, you've been putting your heart and soul into this wedding ever since we came here for dinner because my mother wanted to 'celebrate with us'. I didn't know then that that was code for stealing my girl for days on end, or I don't think we would've come."

Tracey smiled at him. "It's lots of fun, Blaise."

"But that reminds me," his mother spoke up. "Tracey saying that it hasn't got anything to do with her, I mean. Not that that isn't completely untrue," she added for Blaise's sake. "But anyway, your father and I would be honoured if you two would be our attendants.

"Your attendants?" Blaise repeated slightly perplexedly.

Akila nodded. "Best man and maid of honour, if you will."

"What, you're not going to have a long line of bridesmaids?"

His mother raised an eyebrow. "It's to be a small wedding, Blaise, remember?"

"With all this?" Blaise gestured around. "I'd forgotten."

Akila rolled her eyes. "A small wedding, Blaise. With only two attendants." She held up two fingers as if afraid he might not understand. "My two favourite people, other than the groom himself." She sent a smile to Luca that prompted Blaise to make a face at Tracey, who laughed.

"There's something unnatural about making a son witness his parents' wedding," he muttered.

Akila laughed. "Blaise, you are very skilled at avoiding questions. I've asked you two that you haven't answered."

"You have? Blame it on him." Blaise pointed to his father. "I reckon he taught me."

Akila laughed again. "I haven't noticed-" She stopped. "You're doing it again, Blaise!"

"Sorry, sorry. What do you want me to answer?"

"First, _is _there anyone you would like to invite to the wedding?"

Blaise looked at Tracey. "Is there?"

She pushed his feet off the table. "You know, Blaise, generally when one directs a question at a particular person, it's because one wants that person to answer."

He put them back up. "Yeah, but when I am that person I ask you so I won't say anything I'll regret."

She pushed them off again. "And when you do I say, what do you think?"

He replaced them. "And then I say, I don't know. Shall I invite the old crowd?"

She pushed them off. "Who all do you count as the old crowd?"

He put them up. "Pansy, Daphne, Malfoy, Anastasia…maybe."

She sighed resignedly and pointedly. "No Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, or Theodore?"

"Is Nott around again? Sure, you can invite him. But I don't enjoy having Millicent or Crabbe and Goyle around."

"Okay… But Draco and Daphne are married, so that means two more people, and I'm sure Pansy will bring Adrian, so that's another person… Are you set on Anastasia?"

Blaise took his feet off the table. "No, not at all."

Tracey laughed. "Okay. So we have Pansy and Adrian, Terence and Daphne, Draco and Astoria, and Theodore, if we can get him? Is that alright, Akila?" she asked, turning to Blaise's mother.

Akila smiled. "Yes, that's just fine. And now my next question, Blaise. Will you be best man?"

For some reason Blaise looked at his father. "Yeah," he said brusquely.

"And you, Tracey?"

Tracey beamed. "I'd be delighted."

* * *

There was a country lane which passed by Akila Beaumont's manor, and no matter how late they left Blaise and Tracey made a habit of walking along it a little while before they Disapparated. It was the only time they had alone together these days, and time alone with Tracey was something Blaise was not willing to give up.

One night as they walked through the pleasantly cool twilight air Blaise commented, "You know, I remember seeing my mother get married six times, and not once was she like this."

"Like what?" Tracey responded.

"Laughing and happy and stuff. Reckon I've never been this involved, either."

Tracey looked over at him. "She's marrying someone she really loves, who really loves her…"

Blaise shrugged. "Some of the others loved her."

"But she didn't _really_ love them, did she?"

He shrugged again. "Don't reckon."

Tracey slipped her hand into his. "Do you hate this so much, Blaise?"

He looked down at their hands and then at her. "No…it's alright."

She smiled.

* * *

The wedding day came sooner than he expected. They spent the morning at the manor, finishing up. After lunch he took Tracey to her mother's home, and then went to his flat. He whiled away the afternoon in sleep mostly, waking up in time to get ready and go get Tracey at her flat. He was surprised, though, when she opened the door.

Blaise had seen Tracey dressed up on several occasions; but the closest she had ever come to this was at the Yule Ball in their fourth year. The difference was that then she had been a pretty girl who Blaise wasn't all that interested in, and now she was beautiful young woman who had become the centre of his universe.

The dress, which was a colour he had heard his mother refer to as 'grape', was both strapless and made out of some soft, floaty material, which in Blaise's opinion were two reasons to like it. It was also knee-length and had a black sash. And despite Tracey's three-inch heels, he was still taller than her. Her hair was slightly curled and half up in an artfully messy arrangement. She was wearing a bit more makeup than he was used to seeing on her, but she still looked, he thought, very very good.

Tracey laughed at his staring, and twirled for him. "Are you pleased with how I look?" she asked him.

"You're beautiful," Blaise said simply.

Tracey smiled. "Thank you. Shall we go?"

"Are you ready?"

She grabbed a bag off the hall table and said, "Yes, I am."

Blaise took the bag from her and they walked out of her flat's protection to Disapparate. As their feet hit the ground, Tracey stumbled and Blaise automatically grabbed her.

She looked up into his face and then tried to pull away. "No way, Blaise, don't you dare kiss me. Do you know how much time I spent on this?" She gestured towards her face.

Blaise let her go and they started walking towards the manor.

"I like better when you don't wear makeup," he said.

Tracey laughed at his disgruntled tone. "Lipstick," she told him. "I don't usually wear lipstick. But don't you like how it looks?"

He looked intently at her mouth. "What's the point of it looking nice if I can't kiss it?"

She laughed again. "I admire your logic," she said. "You can kiss it, but not right before your mother sees me."

Tabby let them in. "If you please, Miss Tracey, Tabby's mistress would like to have you come up to her room. Mr. Zabini is in the drawing room, Master Blaise." He bowed.

Luca was standing at the window, looking out, but he turned when Blaise entered.

"Ah, Blaise, it is good to see you again," he greeted. "I've been spending the time alone because my lovely bride insists on observing the tradition that the groom should not see the bride before the wedding-and who am I to argue?"

Blaise shrugged. "Tracey went up to her."

"Good. Now there's a small matter she wanted me to ask you about-in a traditional wedding the bride is given away by her father. Your mother's father has long been dead of course, and she wondered if you would do her the honour of escorting her up the aisle."

Blaise shrugged again. "Sure, I reckon."

Luca smiled. "Thank you, Blaise," he said, briefly clasping his son's shoulder. "In that case, you may go upstairs. She should be done with her preparations by now; the guests should be here any minute, which means I need to go outside. I will see you later."

The father exited the room. Blaise looked around and waited a moment before leaving as well. He met his mother and Tracey at the top of the stairs.

As accustomed as he was to Akila's beauty, it made him pause today. She wore a long white dress of simple yet elegant design and a soft, shoulder-length white veil over her dark hair which was up in an elaborate arrangement. All this, though very pretty, wasn't what surprised him; he was used to seeing her beautifully arrayed. But today his mother was glowing and her beauty was almost disturbing to him.

"Blaise!" Akila exclaimed joyfully. "You've agreed to give me away then?"

Blaise jerked his head and Tracey beamed.

"That's lovely. Isn't your mother just a vision, Blaise?" she added, and though her voice was full of admiration and something almost like pride, there was a just a touch wistfulness in it too.

"I reckon," Blaise assented. Then he reached out and pulled Tracey close to his side. "But I prefer blondes," he whispered in her ear and was pleased to see her answering smile light up her face.

His mother descended the stairs in front of them and Blaise held Tracey's hand all the way to the bottom.

"Let's go into the library," Akila suggested. "We'll be able to see when we should go outside."

The wedding was to take places on the manor lawns. Silver chairs had been placed neatly in rows for the guests to sit upon and a white carpet stretched from a little behind the back row to the arbour which Luca and Akila were going to be married there. In fact, the black iron arch hadn't been there until earlier that day, though the white lilies which grew in such wild profusion over it didn't seem to realize that. The chairs were nearly full of guests now, though there weren't very many of either. Blaise couldn't see his father.

"It's time," Akila said suddenly in a voice that vibrated with awe, and made Blaise look at her in slight bemusement.

Tracey smiled and hugged Akila carefully. "Let's go then."

They went. They merely walked in a group until they could see the guests, when Akila stopped and said that they had better arrange themselves properly.

As Blaise and his mother followed Tracey up the aisle, he heard silvery ethereal music and felt the eyes and whispers of those who sat on the chairs and watched. He knew what they were saying and thinking, most of them-that his mother was so very beautiful and that this was her eighth husband would surely bring forth many comments, and the fact that she was marrying again would remind them of her previous husbands and their mysterious deaths, which meant that there was probably much speculation going on as well. Blaise didn't let this sort of thing bother him; people had often speculated about his mother and what her role might be in her husbands' deaths. Yet somehow, perhaps in part due to her radiant happiness, he felt a sudden surprising surge of protectiveness. After all, whatever she had done, she was his mother and they had no business talking about it, not like that, not today. And no matter what they might think, he knew that she would never harm a hair on Luca Zabini's head.

The ceremony seemed to take a while to Blaise. He watched Tracey through most of it. Though she met his eyes from time to time, mostly she was focused on the bride and groom, smiling with a gentle sort of joy. Finally, though, it was over and Luca and Akila were swiftly surrounded by well-wishers. Blaise caught Tracey's arm and pulled her away from the sudden crowd.

A circle of small tables were made to appear, the chairs rearranged to group around them, and there were waiters with food and drinks too. Darkness had fallen by now and above the tables hovered candles in glass globes, while underfoot the velvety grass was covered by a black, highly-polished dance floor.

Blaise and Tracey sat at one of the small tables. He grabbed firewhiskey for each of them from a passing tray and then they sat in silence, watching the people.

Finally the crowd around Luca and Akila dispersed somewhat. The music swelled again and they began dancing, as their guests watched and applauded. Blaise looked at Tracey and then stood and held out his hand. She took it and they joined his parents on the dance floor. More guests joined them, while others sat at the tables to eat and talk and watch the dancers. Blaise would not have minded doing this, but he knew he was expected to dance with Tracey, and then with his mother, so he did so before he went to sit down with Tracey again.

"You're quiet tonight," she observed, accepting the sandwich he had claimed for her.

He shrugged. "No one else is," he pointed out.

Tracey laughed. "No, not really… Your parents look happy."

Blaise looked at them. "They are."

"Hi you two!"

Pansy had come over, followed by Adrian Pucey. While the girls hugged, Blaise and Adrian nodded at each other a little curtly; they had never had much to do with each other and wouldn't mind keeping it that way.

"This is just the sweetest wedding," Pansy gushed. "Your mother, Blaise, is one of the most beautiful brides I've ever seen. I'm so glad I got to be here."

Tracey smiled. "It is lovely," she agreed.

"Oh, I love this song," Pansy said suddenly. "Let's dance, shall we?"

Adrian Pucey nodded agreeably and they left, only to be quickly replaced by Terence and Daphne Higgs.

Daphne sat down, one hand on her pregnant stomach. "I wonder if this child will be less exhausting to carry around once it's born. Oh, hello, Tracey, Blaise."

"Hi, Daphne," Tracey said. "How soon will it be born?"

"One more month to go. I feel so _big_," Daphne moaned, and smiled. "I wanted to dance but I can't really. Why aren't you two?"

Tracey looked at Blaise. "He didn't want to."

"You can dance with Terence if you want to," Daphne offered freely.

The look Blaise gave Terence gave the impression that he was just daring him to ask Tracey to dance.

"Oh no, that's fine," Tracey said quickly, laying a hand on Blaise's. "We did dance, earlier, and I was ready to sit down anyway."

Daphne shrugged. "Oh, I want some firewhiskey! But Terence says no drinking til this child is born, and I know he's right. But I actually really want some!"

Tracey laughed. "Can you have butterbeer?"

Daphne looked at Terence, who shrugged.

"I probably shouldn't, but they have pumpkin juice too, don't they? I want some of that."

Terence went to find her some and Daphne chattered on, Tracey interjecting replies where appropriate. Blaise tuned them out, watching his parents revolving on the dance floor. They were both smiling and he suddenly felt a twinge he couldn't quite identify.

Suddenly he turned to Tracey. "Let's dance."

She looked surprised, but smiled. "Okay."

Theodore Nott was not there; he was still abroad. Neither were Draco and Astoria Malfoy; they had merely declined with thanks, without giving a reason.

* * *

"I am so tired," Tracey said, and sat on the ground.

It was late. The guests and the bride and groom were all gone, but Blaise and Tracey had stayed to see everything returned to normal and the manor locked up, which was what Blaise was doing at the moment. Tabby and Nonie were to stay on, taking care of the place, but his mother preferred it to be locked up anyway.

The job done, Blaise turned and looked down at Tracey.

"You want to sit there how long?"

She laughed and held up her hand, which he took and pulled her to her feet.

"It's been a long day," she observed as they started down the long, cobbled path.

"Yeah…" Blaise agreed, and yawned.

She laughed again and he took hold of her hand.

"It seems like a long time since I was at a wedding," Tracey murmured. "Draco and Astoria, I guess."

"I missed all those," Blaise replied.

She looked at him. "Do you wish you hadn't?"

He shrugged. "Weddings aren't really my thing."

"Mm." Tracey grew quiet.

Tonight they did not walk the country lane, but Apparated to Tracey's flat as soon as they were able. Blaise did not even go in; he thought she looked too tired. Instead he kissed her at the door and went home himself.

* * *

**A/N: Not overly quick, but longer than usual, so that makes up for it right? Sad news, lovelies, I have hit a rough spot! Which is to say, I know where this is going, I know what the ending is, but I am having a blank as to what come next because I don't actually want to skip a couple of years. Fluff, apparently, is needed. If ya'll have any inspiring ideas, throw them at me! I may love you forever :)  
On a completely unrelated topic, my supermegafoxyawesomehot sistah bought me a Palmer GrandBunny HEFFELFLOPPER today! I am deeply in love with chocolate Easter Bunnies. REJOICE WITH ME! :)  
Later dears...**


	5. For She's Now Indispensable

Sunday, three days later, Blaise and Tracey arranged to meet at the park around ten; she was going to eat breakfast with her mother and uncle first. Blaise went early; he was there by nine.

This was a Muggle park, several blocks from Tracey's flat. They came here a fair bit; they were fond of the place. It wasn't a terribly small park; it had a play area and some paths, but was mostly grass and trees except for the small duck pond and the stream that flowed into it. While usually reasonably well supplied with Muggles, it was almost never crowded, and a pleasant place to spend time at.

The bench Blaise sat on was empty, and he was so busy thinking he didn't notice the girl who had sat down, not until she spoke.

"Hi there," she said.

Blaise automatically looked around and realized she was speaking to him. "Hey," he replied briefly, looking at her in some surprise.

She was a small girl, pretty and pleasantly rounded, with straight, not-quite-shoulder-length dark hair that shone red in the sun.

"I'm Beth Spencer," she told him, holding out her hand. "Elizabeth, really, but no one calls me that." Her smile revealed dimples.

Blaise shook it. "Blaise Zabini."

"Pleasure," she responded. "Do you come here often?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

Beth's smile didn't falter. "I used to come here nearly every day. I lived only a block away, in a house that was too small for a family of our size, so it was my escape. I spent hours here… Mostly under that tree over there." She pointed at a majestic yew tree. "But I've moved away and I haven't been here in a long time… It's a beautiful park, isn't it?" She pushed back her hair.

"Yeah, it's nice," Blaise agreed.

"I miss it sometimes," she confessed. "And I was so glad to be able to come here today. I'm so busy, usually…" She chattered on, apparently not the slightest bit concerned that Blaise wouldn't want to hear it.

And strangely, he didn't mind. This Muggle girl made him think of the way the adolescent Tracey had been back at Hogwarts, though she admittedly looked nothing like her at all. Beth Spencer also forcibly reminded him of someone else, but he couldn't quite place his finger on who, exactly.

She talked to him with few pauses until Tracey came.

"Hi Blaise," she greeted him. "Who's your friend?"

She wasn't exactly his friend, in Blaise's opinion, but he didn't bother bring it up. Beth responded before he did, anyway.

"I'm Beth Spencer," she told Tracey, holding out her hand.

Tracey shook it. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Tracey Davies," she replied.

The girl beamed at her. "So, Blaise is your boyfriend?" she asked frankly.

Tracey looked at Blaise and smiled. "Yes, something like that."

Beth smiled even bigger, if that were possible. "Okay then, I'll leave you to it. It was nice meeting you." And she walked off, the spring in her step making her hair bounce. Suddenly Blaise realized who it was she reminded him of-Ginny Weasley. Something about her smile and her hair and the flowery scent and the size of her.

"Who was that?" Tracey asked curiously once Beth was out of earshot.

Blaise shrugged. "You know about as much as me. She just sat down here and started talking at me. Never saw her before."

Tracey laughed and sat next to him. "She's a Muggle?"

He shrugged again. "I'm pretty sure she is."

"Hm… You know, Blaise, some of our people wouldn't be caught dead talking with one of them like that. Do you kind of like Muggles?"

Blaise frowned. "I don't like them exactly… I don't hate them. I just…" He didn't know exactly how to describe his feelings towards Muggles and was grateful it was Tracey who was talking to.

Because she said, "You just like them in the abstract? I mean, as long as they don't push up close and annoy you, you kind of like having them there in the background."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, that's it."

"But you didn't seem too annoyed at this Beth Spencer?"

He shrugged. "She made me think of you at Hogwarts, a bit."

Tracey raised surprised eyebrows. "She looks nothing like me."

"Yeah, but she talks like you used to," Blaise explained.

She laughed. "Alright."

"Do you like Muggles?" he wondered. "You like coming to their park."

Tracey nodded. "I kind of like them. But, like you, I'm okay with them just staying in the background. They're nice to have there, though, and they can be interesting to watch."

"Mm…" Blaise took her hand in his. The sun was warm on their heads and he could feel the approaching summer in the warmth of the air around them.

* * *

The next Sunday they went hiking again. They took a lunch and after eating it they lay in the grass, their bodies parallel, not touching. They lay in silence until Blaise, for no reason other than he suddenly wanted to, told her about Ginny Weasley.

When he stopped talking, there was silence again, for Tracey took a moment to respond.

"So that's what it was," she said finally.

"What?"

"Well it was obvious something was going on with you," she replied. "But it wasn't obvious what it was. At first you didn't seem exactly unhappy...though it isn't very easy to tell with you. But you just seemed sort of...pensive...maybe a little melancholy. And more and more distracted. Til that day, you remember, when you ran into me and your hand was broken? Your eyes, Blaise... I don't think I've ever seen so much emotion so easily seen on your face. You looked so-_hurt_, and so bewildered like you couldn't understand how, or why, or something. And after that...it was like you closed all your doors and never really let anyone in. I never knew what had happened but I knew it must have been something really terrible for you..."

Blaise shrugged. He hadn't realized Tracey had seen so much about him.

"Do you still want her?" Tracey asked suddenly, and her tone had changed.

Blaise turned his head to look at her, but she was partly obscured by the grass. "No," he said. "She's married, you know that."

"That doesn't mean much."

His forehead creased. She sounded so...vulnerable. He suddenly rolled over, holding himself up so that he hovered over her.

"I've never yet coveted any man's wife," he told her, but his tone was not entirely serious.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes darker than usual.

"Aw, Trace, don't look at me like that," he said, his tone changing now. "You should know I don't want Ginny Weasley anymore."

Tracey pushed him away so she could sit up. "You know, Blaise, there's so much to you. Anymore I don't even feel surprised when I see another side because that's you, that's just how Blaise Zabini is. It's like...like an onion kind of, though I've never liked onions. Every time I peel one layer away, there's another one waiting for me. And I don't mind that, not really... But this...this is something else to deal with. I don't know if I want to."

Blaise sat up too now. "Well, I'm sorry, Trace. What do you want me to do, edit myself? What happened with Ginny Weasley is as much a part of me as anything else I told you. You can either have all of me, or none of me. I don't come in parts."

Tracey pushed her hair out of her face. "I don't _want_ just part of you. That's the point."

Blaise felt confused.

"Blaise, I've seen your parents, yeah? And how your father still, after all this time, loves your mother. What am I _supposed_ to think?"

He frowned. "That's not how it is at all. I don't love Ginny Weasley."

She sighed. "I don't want to be your second choice, Blaise."

"You're not," Blaise objected. He reached out and took her hand in his. "Trace, come on... You know you've never been that."

She shook her head slightly. "Do I?"

"Yeah," he said.

Tracey sighed again. "What if she wouldn't be with Harry Potter? Wouldn't you still be after her?"

Blaise was frowning again. "No," he said. "I told you, I don't want her anymore."

"But you decided that because she told you she doesn't want you, she wants Harry Potter."

He was starting to wish he hadn't ever mentioned Ginny Weasley's name. "What does it matter?"

Tracey pulled her hand away. "It just does."

"Isn't it enough that you are the one I want now? You've had boyfriends before me too."

"Yeah, I know... But it was different."

"How was it different?"

"They never mattered more."

"More than what?"

"More than you." She wasn't looking at him again.

Blaise leaned forward, lifting her chin with his hand and looking into the downcast face. "Baby... Trust me when I say there is no one I want more than you. You get me in a way no one else does-or can. Not even Ginny Weasley. She's a Gryffindor, remember? It takes a Slytherin to even half understand me." He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.

Tracey only kissed him back for a moment before pushing him away. "Blaise, don't... My House has nothing to do with it and you know it."

Blaise let go of her and stood up. "Look," he said, his voice slightly cool now, "I told you about Ginny Weasley because I wanted you to know. I didn't want that to be something I'm keeping hidden from you. But now I'm starting to regret that decision of mine."

Then, because he was more upset than he cared to show, he turned and walked several paces away. There he stood still, glaring at the ground and fighting with himself.

For the first time, he felt the tiniest bit of regret for what had happened with Ginny. He had loved the girl, he thought, or had he? He had never known her very well. Certainly he had been attracted to her but he was sure that what he'd felt for her had gone beyond just the physical. And what did it matter now? He had been a boy then and that love did not compare with how the man he was now felt for the woman Tracey was. Why couldn't she see that?

And it wasn't like she hadn't had boyfriends. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't had other girlfriends either. Though since they seldom lasted more than a week, maybe 'girlfriend' wasn't the correct term to use. She knew about most of those and they never seemed to bother her. Maybe because she knew all of those relationships had never gone beyond the superficial; by now they had sort of melted together in Blaise's mind. Ginny was different; like a pink rose in a field of white begonias, she stood out. Tracey seemed to know this.

But he couldn't change it now even if he wanted to, and he wasn't sure he did. It wasn't really what had happened that he might be regretting, only that it seemed to be hurting Tracey.

But why should Tracey let it bother her? He might call her 'Ginny Weasley' still, but it was a fact that she was married to Harry Potter and Blaise was not in love with her. He did not want her anymore; he was more than satisfied with Tracey.

He wished he had never mentioned Ginny Weasley to her.

But the problem was, he loved Tracey and he felt irrationally guilty for having once had whatever it was that he had had, with Ginny Weasley, because apparently it was upsetting Tracey. At the same time he rather resented Tracey for making him feel guilty. The combination wasn't very comfortable

It was at this point, when he was trying to discover whether the guilt or the resentment was stronger, that he felt two slender arms slipping around his waist. Something pressed against his back-her forehead, or maybe her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Blaise," she whispered. "I'll try to trust and be okay with it. I really will."

He sighed and turned around, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close to him. He said nothing, but buried his face in her hair and they stood there for a long while, holding onto each other.

Apparently his love for her was stronger than either.

* * *

Blaise was about to do something incredibly stupid with his hand.

At least, he felt it was incredibly stupid. His audience of three might have disagreed as they stood watching; one with her hands on her hips, another with her arms folded over her chest, the third with her hands clasped in front of her, a smile on her face. The latter was Tracey, of course, and the others were two Muggle girls whom Tracey had somehow taken pity upon, which was why Blaise was now up to his elbow in murky, scummy water, searching through the moss and mud and stones for a lost ring.

He wished they would look away so he could just use magic.

"How did you lose it?" Tracey asked interestedly, still smiling.

The taller of the two, a dark-eyed brunette, sighed deeply. "It's mine," she explained, letting her arms uncross and fall to her sides. "My engagement ring," she added with a touch of pride. "It's almost new and I was showing it to Natalia and she was teasing me and she grabbed at it, pretending to steal it, only she really took it off my finger and she dropped it!"

"I'm sorry!" Natalia said quickly. "You know I didn't mean to; I didn't really realize it'd come off!"

"I know." The brunette gave her a tight smile. "I'm not angry with you. I'm just worried! If it's really lost-I don't know _what_ Jimmy will say; what if he's mad?"

"I'll tell him it was my fault," Natalia comforted. "Are you finding it at all?" she asked Blaise.

Blaise made a noncommittal sound. He was not enjoying himself.

Tracey smiled at him. "So you're getting married soon or not soon?" she asked the brunette interestedly.

"Not til September," the girl told her. "I've always wanted a fall wedding and Jim doesn't mind. I think fall is the most beautiful season."

"I don't," Natalia spoke up, pushing a long blonde braid back over her shoulder.

The brunette rolled her eyes. "And it's not your wedding."

Blaise glanced their way in hopes that they would be distracted enough for him to draw his wand. No such luck; Natalia's sharp grey eyes were fixed on him. She looked a little nervous.

"Natalia is very unfixed in her mind, what she'd want her wedding to be like," the girl chattered on to Tracey. "Like, I know exactly what colours I want-red and orange and brown. Like autumn leaves. I've known for years. But she keeps making derogatory remarks about my wedding plans though she doesn't know what she'd do herself. I think it's ridiculous of her."

"At least I know what I don't like," Natalia murmured. "I mean, that's a start, isn't it?"

"Seems to be," Tracey agreed. "I can't say I know exactly what I want my wedding to be like either."

"Oh, are you engaged?" the fiancée asked eagerly.

"No," Tracey said quickly. "No, but all girls dream of their wedding, don't they?"

"No," Natalia disagreed. "I don't."

"I did," the brunette argued. "Oh, I'm starting to like you. What's your name?"

"Tracey Davies."

"I'm Kathleen Portman and this is Natalia Long. We're very good friends," Kathleen told her. "And is he your boyfriend?"

"Yes, he is." Tracey sounded faintly amused. "His name is Blaise Zabini."

"Italian?" Natalia was suddenly intrigued.

"Leave him alone, Natalia," Kathleen commanded. "He's quite good-looking, but I guess you know that," she remarked to Tracey.

"Yes, he's half Italian," Tracey answered Natalia's question.

Blaise was beginning to suspect that this ring was gone for good.

Natalia hummed a little.

"She's got this thing for Italians," Kathleen explained. "She vacationed in Italy one year and apparently she met this most amazing young man there. And now she's convinced that all Italian men are amazing just like that. I keep telling her that's ridiculous but she never listens to me." Kathleen shook her head.

"Your fiancé's name is Jimmy," Natalia pointed out. "Why would I listen to you?"

"She's also basically obsessive about names," Kathleen informed Tracey. "I tell her that's shallow but she pays me no attention of course. His name is actually James, you know, but no one ever calls him that. I think Jimmy is a nice name, though we call him Jim a lot." She shrugged.

"It sounds like a four-year-old," Natalia muttered, still watching Blaise closely.

"Well, my name sounds like an eighty-year-old apparently, so that matches up." Kathleen's voice was suddenly sharp.

Natalia rolled her eyes. "Will you never forget that?"

"Well-" Kathleen started but precisely at that moment Blaise lifted out of the water an object that was most definitely a ring. Not caring to listen to more of her prattling, he quickly stood and held it out.

"Is this it?"

Kathleen stared into his hand and then clapped her hands together. "It _is_ it _is_! I can never thank you enough for finding it!" She flung her arms around Blaise's neck, much to his surprise, and then took the ring and kissed it.

"So dramatic." Natalia rolled her eyes again. "Like Jimmy would've actually been angry. But thanks," she added earnestly to Blaise and Tracey. "That was really very decent of you."

Blaise was busy looking distastefully at his filthy hand so Tracey smiled warmly at the girls and said, "You're welcome. Congratulations on your engagement, Kathleen."

Kathleen beamed at the two of them. "Thank you! That was the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me. I am fathoms deep in gratitude!"

Natalia took her hand. "Yes, good. Let's go."

Kathleen waved enthusiastically and they left.

"Shall we go back to my flat?" Tracey asked, eyeing Blaise's arm with undisguised amusement.

He pretended not to notice.

"That was very nice of you, to do that for those girls," Tracey commented a little later as she watched him scrubbing up.

Blaise glanced at her in some surprise. "I did it for you."

She smiled, and then looked back at his hands. "Blaise, are you a little fastidious about your appearance or something?"

He scowled. "There's nothing wrong with not wanting to look like I've just slept in the gutter."

Tracey laughed. "No, there definitely is not. I just didn't really realize that about you before."

* * *

Sunday again, evening, and Blaise was tired. He had had to go into work for several hours, Tracey had spent the day with her family, and he wanted nothing more than to relax in Tracey's flat, alone with her.

But as soon as she opened the door he knew that that wasn't in her plans.

"Oh Blaise, hi," she said, a little breathlessly. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

He followed her back into her room, where she continued what he had apparently interrupted-putting up her hair.

"Are you going out or something?" Blaise asked, frowning at her.

"Yes." She did not elaborate, merely concentrated on the blonde strands under her fingers.

"With who?" Blaise questioned abruptly-crossly.

Her eyes flickered in his direction. "Theodore Nott."

He took a step further into the room. "Nott? Like a date?"

Her hair arranged to her satisfaction, Tracey stepped out of the room to wash her face. "Mm," she answered unhelpfully as she patted her face dry. "He's just come back and he's lonely," she added, brushing past Blaise on her way back to her dressing table.

Blaise went after her, grabbing her waist to make her stop. "You don't date other blokes."

It wasn't a command, just a statement of what he thought was fact, but Tracey seemed to take it the wrong way. She twisted out of Blaise's grip, her eyes flashing.

"I do whatever I want to. I do not belong to any man, you know, Blaise." She spread her fingers in front of his face and then went to sit down.

Blaise frowned at her, not understanding the gesture. She ignored him, focusing on the bracelet she was trying to fasten with one hand. Not very successfully, Blaise noticed. She was becoming frustrated. He watched her clenching her teeth and glaring at the rebellious silver catch, and then stepped over to her side.

"Let me," he offered.

Tracey hesitated for a moment before holding out her arm and allowing him to fasten it. "Thank you, Blaise." She turned back to the mirror and leaned close, studying her face, and then chose a tube of some makeup-Blaise didn't recognize it.

But he took it away anyway. "You don't need that."

Tracey did glare at him then. "The nerve of you, Blaise Zabini! I am not your property that you tell me what I can or can't do. Or what I need. Give me that, please."

Blaise did not enjoy being glared at by her. He gave it. "You look better without it," he told her.

She ignored him again, intent on applying it to her eyes.

Blaise studied her, noticing that she was wearing a dress. That was slightly unusual; dresses were not Tracey's first choice. It was a pretty dress; light blue and silky.

"Why are you wearing a dress?" His tone was more accusing than he'd really intended.

Tracey was deeply interested in her face. "Because he said to dress up. It's almost new; isn't it pretty?"

Blaise hated it at once. "No."

She pretended not to hear.

Blaise bent forward suddenly, rummaging through her open drawer of makeup. Tracey leaned away a little, frowning.

"Blaise, what're you-"

"Here," Blaise interrupted, holding out a tube of crimson lipstick. "Aren't you going to wear lipstick?"

Tracey stared at the lipstick and then at Blaise, until all at once understanding dawned across her face. "Oh. No, Blaise, I'm not." She might have been biting back a smile; he wasn't sure. "I'm going to wear lipgloss, actually. I prefer it; it's easier."

He watched her finish up in front of the mirror and then stand and put on her shoes. Sandals actually, that laced up her legs. Somehow they annoyed him. He only grew angrier as he watched her check her hair in the mirror and glance at the clock.

"I wanted you tonight," he snapped at her.

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "So did Theodore apparently, only he had the foresight to make sure he could have me."

Blaise reached out and jerked her to him. "What is the matter with you? Why are you doing this?!"

Tracey struggled against his fierce embrace but he only held her tighter against his chest.

"Let me go, Blaise."

"No."

She sighed and went still. "I'm doing this because Theodore is just as much my classmate as you, and he's lonely and wants company. Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're _my _girl," Blaise snapped.

"You're hurting me," she pointed out instead of responding to this declaration.

Blaise loosened his hold somewhat but still did not let her go. "Sorry."

"Would you please let me go?" Tracey asked.

He frowned, and then did, though he didn't look like he wanted to.

"Thank you." Tracey smoothed her hair. "Theodore will be here any minute."

He followed her out into the hall, still frowning. When she paused he grabbed her again, though not as forcefully.

"You _are_ my girl and don't you forget it," he said angrily and also rather commandingly.

Tracey raised her eyebrows again. "Are you ordering me around or something?"

"Yes." Blaise covered her mouth with his, furious and possessive and insistent.

Tracey finally managed to break away, gasping a little. "I-I think I heard the doorbell."

Blaise was not at all displeased that she sounded a little dizzy or that her walk to the door was not entirely steady. But he didn't wait around to see Nott, choosing instead to go lie on Tracey's living room couch in the dark.

They didn't speak loud enough that he could understand, but he could hear their voices and the door closing when they left. Alone in Tracey's now dark flat, Blaise lay on his back and thought, still a little angry, about her.

He simply could not understand why she would be going out with Theodore Nott. And tonight, when she must have known that he would want to be with her.

And just why? He had honestly thought she wouldn't go out on dates with anyone else-she was _his_ girl. He remembered suddenly her statement-'I do not belong to any man'-and frowned. She belonged to _him_; what did she mean by that? And what was with the fingers she'd waved in front of his face as if she was proving a point?

She had been almost un-Tracey-like with her independence, don't-touch-me, I-am-doing-this-and-what's-it-to-you?, and Blaise didn't like it at all...

"Blaise-Blaise!"

Blaise sat up. "Uh, what?"

"You were sleeping." Tracey sat down on the couch next to him.

"Oh, right." Blaise knuckled his eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after ten." She was eyeing him with something he couldn't quite indentify.

"Did you just get back?"

"Yes."

Blaise frowned. "Did you have fun then?"

Tracey smiled at him. "Yes, I did. It was a _very_ nice evening." She chose to ignore Blaise's murderous scowl in favour of informing him that "He asked me if I want to go out again Wednesday evening."

"What did you say?" Blaise asked through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I told him not that evening. Pansy and I are having a girls' night. And he said he'd be in touch and I said okay." Tracey shrugged. "Did you have a long evening? I didn't expect you to wait here, you know, Blaise."

Blaise jerked his shoulders. "Slept most of it."

"Oh, were you very tired?"

Tracey's tone was sympathetic but he didn't feel very comforted by it anyway. It still didn't seem like her, really. He had a sudden wild idea that this was somebody else using Polyjuice. But then he looked at her and something about the way she was tilting her head and looking at him recalled so precisely her conduct sometimes while still at Hogwarts that he could not pretend this was anyone but Tracey. But she was being Tracey in a way _his_ Tracey never had been; he had just imagined she had given up on this sort of behaviour and had sort of forgotten about it. Something about him made him feel not only very puzzled and rather angry, but also as if he had done something wrong. Blaise didn't enjoy this.

"I dunno," he said vaguely in answer to her question.

"I am, now," she commented, covering her yawn with one hand. "I think it's my bedtime, Blaise."

It couldn't be called a hint, exactly, more like an invitation to leave. Blaise didn't argue. He kissed her forehead before he left though; it bothered him that she didn't hug him.

As he entered his own flat he decided that if he wanted his Tracey back, he was going to have to do something about it. And he did; though actually, it felt more like a need than a want. He didn't know if he could make it without her.

* * *

**A/N: At long last people, after much labor and fighting with that heavy weight we call WRITER'S BLOCK, here you are. Somewhat. Summer has come, which is my busy season, which means less writing time, which means OH DEAR THE SLOWNESS. In updating. But you'll make it I imagine. At any rate, reviews are like an inspiration. Really, my deahs, you cannot expect me to update fast when you do not review at all!**


End file.
